The first time the last (but not the least, though some may think so) Avenger met her, however, was not the last time they would see her.
Clint bit back a groan. Can't he even take just one fucking break in this world?
First it was Fury calling him on his first – his first! After how many years in this sometimes-goddamned agency? – vacation from S.H.E.I.L.D. and assigning him to New Mexico. Now it was a short break from spying on a suspected contact for a smuggling ring, and he gets an idiot holding up the convenience store.
He just wanted some juice, dammit.
"Hand over the money!" Clint peered out from behind the aisle he was in at the man currently pointing a gun at the cashier. The guy hadn't noticed him yet. He'd been bent over, getting a drink from one of the lower shelves of the refrigerators in the back when the yelling started.
The robber must have thought the shop was empty when he came in. Clint almost wished it had been empty, but apparently he was supposed to be a superhero now and he couldn't do that.
He glanced at his watch. He had ten minutes before his partner would start getting annoyed or, God forbid, worried about him.
No, make that fifteen. He wasn't with Nat today after all.
She could be such a mom sometimes.
He shifted forward a little more, moving in position to tackle the robber to the ground – only to nearly bump into a girl retreating on her knees. She whirled around, blonde hair whipping and blue eyes wide. Clint pressed a finger to his lips in a silent plea. She nodded slowly in understanding, then resumed shuffling backwards, until she was hiding behind the aisle opposite his.
"I said hand it over!" The guy sounded slightly panicked. He twitched constantly, glancing out the window and back again. The man – a boy, really – looked to be in his early 20s. Clint pitied him. He was sweating profusely, and the hand holding his gun trembled. He was probably on a dare from some gang, or really, really desperate.
He figured it was the former. The desperate usually didn't have the money to buy a gun.
"Okay, okay, here, here! Just don't shoot!" The cashier guy pleaded, shoving bills into the backpack the robber had brought with him.
"Faster!" The robber glanced out the window again. Clint stood in one swift motion, ready to leap- only for the guy to turn around and fire at him with a scream of shock.
Clint dove back behind his aisle, the bullet ricocheting off the metal shelves where his head had been. He heard a muffled yelp from behind him, quickly drowned out by the cashier guy's scream.
Dude probably pissed his pants already.
At least the girl knew how to keep quiet. He really didn't need a sobbing mess of little girl clinging to him right now. While it was something he himself had never really experienced, he'd been told it was something little girls do.
"Give me that!" The robber grabbed the bag, sounding plenty pissed-in-his-pants himself, and bolted for the door. That alone told Clint he was an absolute noob at this (and may he never say that word aloud because he'd have to explain to Tony Stark why the hell he knew teenage gaming geek lingo).
Rule number one in combat: Never turn your back on an enemy.
Clint dashed forward, ready to take the scumbag down and just get it over with, but something else got to him first.
Namely, the door.
The door that swung open for the guy, then slammed into his face.
By itself.
"Aargh!" The robber howled in pain, dropping his gun to clutch at his nose.
Clint had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not pausing to wonder, he tackled the man, twisting his arm around and pinning him to the ground. The man swore violently and tried to reach for his gun. A little more pressure on his arm served to discourage him.
Not that he needed it. The gun skittered away, out of reach of its ex-owner's twitching fingers.
By itself.
Clint decided to focus on keeping the robber pinned down.
"Anyone got any rope?" he asked, his voice a calm contrast to his iron grip on the man underneath him. He looked for all the world like he was ready to kick back and have a martini, despite the fact that more than one object within his immediate vicinity had decided it was entitled to independent locomotion today.
Clint didn't hang around a man who designed semi-autonomous robotic hands for nothing.
"And can someone call the police?" he added belatedly, remembering this was not a S.H.I.E.L.D. op where the cleanup crew came without his say-so but a simple robbing at a convenience store.
The great Hawkeye reduced to stopping a robbing at a convenience store.
Coulson would have laughed.
"R-r-right! Rope, uh, police and- I'll get it," the cashier babbled, before darting into a back room. Clint listened to his footsteps go, the little girl panting slightly as she followed him. He kept his eyes on the now-whimpering robber, and on any possible backup he might have on the streets.
It didn't take long for the police to arrive. They found the robber bound and gagged by tape (there was no rope) and the cashier relieved and practically sobbing about a blond guy almost as heroic as the Avengers. He'd even paid for his juice before he left!
A few blocks away Clint drank said juice with relish, thinking that they definitely didn't pay him enough for this job. Screw assassinations, screw saving the world, hell, screw dealing with Tony fucking Stark on a near-daily basis, if he couldn't even take a short break without shit happening he definitely wasn't being paid enough.
The memory of the swinging door and the moving gun flashed through his mind. He considered it, then put the thought aside for later. At the very least, Fury would want to know about any possible supernatural occurrences in the middle of Avengers-protected New York.
It was only later after he'd replaced his partner at his post (fourteen and a half minutes and not even sweating, that amount of trust in this kind of job always flattered his ego) that he realized something.
He never did see where the silent girl from the aisle had gone.
His forehead wrinkled into a small frown.
He was definitely telling Fury.
...After Fragments of Memory, I don't know how to do author's notes anymore. I hope you enjoy the sarcasm, because my only sources for Hawkeye's personality is 12 minutes and 44 seconds of Avenger screen time, less from the Thor movie (which I did not even remember his role in until Wikipedia reminded me), some Wikipedia articles, and fanon from fanfiction. So yes, egotistic sarcastic marksman (with good reason!) Hawkeye at your service folks.
As for our mystery girl, don't worry! She won't stay a mystery soon- next chapter is when the plot gets really rolling. Stay tuned!
katniss: Oh dear, I am so sorry he came off that way! Steve was just honestly concerned for her (it's in his job description, being a hero and all) and he has fought in a war before. ('Wars' now, I guess.) He was just looking out for our dear mystery girl, so I'm sorry if it came off differently. I edited the chapter though, so I hope it's not a problem anymore.
MusicOfMadness: Hey there! Thank you for checking out my other work as well! As you can see, I am definitely continuing this one. I don't know how long the frequent updates will last though, hahaha!
TheLilyReviewer: Thank you! I hope I can live up to your expectations! :D